Broken Throne (Red Queen #4.5)(79)

The world spins for a few seconds, and he gives me enough room to get my bearings. I stay down longer than I need to, wishing away the dull pain on either side of my skull.

“I’ll call for Wren,” he says, but I wave him off.

“It’s just a dizzy spell.” Gritting my teeth, I get to my feet, careful not to stumble and give Tolly an excuse to get a healer. I don’t need anyone else nannying me. I almost hiss at my brother when he tries to help me up. “See, I’m fine. No harm done.”

He doesn’t need to know I feel like I’ve just taken a hammer to the head. Certainly bruises are springing up already.

“Good move,” I add, if only to distract Tolly. And myself. The dirt training ring whirls around me still. Tungsten is nothing to sneer at, especially in the hands of a skilled magnetron.

Tolly examines his rings with a strange expression, his lips pursed. One of the rings is thicker than the other, and heavier too. He spins it around his finger, and a blush colors the top of his cheeks with bright silver. My brother isn’t exactly a talkative sort. Neither of us was taught how to handle our emotions, only to hide them. He didn’t learn that lesson as well as I did.

“Father taught you how to do that, didn’t he?” I mutter, turning away. The sudden motion makes my head spin. The memories come too fast. Tolly was my father’s heir. Naturally, he got different treatment than I did. Lessons with our father, mostly. Training, statecraft. He prepared Ptolemus to lead our house, and our kingdom too.

“He did.”

Those two words hold so much meaning. Their relationship was different from ours. Closer. Better. Ptolemus was everything my father wanted him to be. A son, a strong warrior, dutiful and loyal to our blood. No flaws like mine. No wonder he loved him more. And my brother loved him in return, no matter what happened back in Archeon.

I absolutely refuse to cry for the second time today. So I focus on the splitting pain in my skull instead of the pain in my heart. “I’m—”

He cuts me off quickly, forcing me to turn around and look at him. “If you apologize for what happened to him, I’ll muzzle you.” We have the same eyes, storm-cloud eyes. Tolly’s threaten to explode.

I bite my lip. “Good luck with that.”

The tired jibe does nothing to calm him. In fact he draws me closer, putting his hands on my shoulders so I can’t look away. “We all did what we had to, Eve. They forced our hands.” They. Our. We’ve been in this together for so long, and Tolly never lets me forget. “They always wanted to make us survivors, and they succeeded.”

We survived them.

House Samos is not known for the ability to display affection, and Tolly and I are no exception. I remember watching Mare Barrow hug her family good-bye the last time she left Montfort. They were all arms and movement, clinging so tightly, making such a fuss in front of an audience. Not exactly my taste. But when I hug Tolly, I think of her, and I squeeze him just a bit longer than usual. He responds in kind, giving me an awkward pat on the back that nearly knocks the air from my lungs.

Still, I can’t help but feel a now-familiar burst of warmth. It is an odd thing, to be loved and know you are loved as well.

“Do you have your speech prepared?” I ask, pulling back to see his face. If he’s going to lie about the abdication speech, I’ll know it.

To his credit, he doesn’t dodge the question. Tolly offers a crooked smirk. “That’s what the flight is for.”

All I can do is roll my eyes. “You never could finish your schoolwork on time, no matter the punishment.”

“I seem to remember you cheating on many of your own assignments, Lady Samos.”

“But did anyone ever catch me?” I fire back, an eyebrow raised. Tolly just shakes his head and lets me go, refusing to give me the satisfaction. He heads for one of the nearby buildings, where both of us can clean off.

“That’s what I thought, Ptolemus!” I shout, eager to catch up with him.

When we reach the building, he holds open the door, letting me enter first. The changing room inside is narrow but tall, with airy skylights open to the pine boughs. Ptolemus bangs open one of the nearby closets and paws through a medical kit, looking for a bandage. I grab a towel from a neat pile and toss it over to him. He wipes off his face, staining the plush cotton with dirt, sweat, and a little bit of blood from his mouth.

I do the same, taking a seat to towel off the sweat at the base of my neck.

“I would have made a poor king,” he says suddenly, and with such a casual manner. As if it’s a foregone conclusion, the end of an easy equation. He continues hunting for something to bandage up his cut. “I think Father always knew that crown was going to die with him. No matter how much he talked about legacy and family. He was too smart to think the Kingdom of the Rift could exist without Volo Samos.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Or Evangeline.”

The bandage hunt is pointless. Wren Skonos can regrow hands. She’ll have no issue mending a tiny cut. He just needs something to do, another distraction now that we’re not trading blows.

“You think Father wanted us to rule together.” I try to keep my voice as calm as his. My court training does me well. Even Tolly wouldn’t know that the idea, the lost possibility of such a future, unwinds in front of me. Ruling with my brother, Elane between, a queen to us both. Subject to nothing and no one. Not even our parents when the time came. I could live as I wished, in all the splendor and strength I was born to. But no, that can’t be true. Ptolemus was always the heir, and I was always the pawn. My parents were ready to bargain me away for another inch of power. It’s a useless thing to think of, a rotten future that will never come to pass.